


Panic Attack

by RiddellLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Could Be Canon, Gen, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Inquisitorial Squad, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Panic Attacks, traumatic flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddellLee/pseuds/RiddellLee
Summary: Harry Potter is minding his own business on the Quidditch Pitch when Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad shows up.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	Panic Attack

Umbridge had taken Quidditch away from him.

The toad had taken his Firebolt too, holding it prisoner in her lurid pink office behind iron manacles as if she were creating a medieval torture display. He was sure her next Educational Decree would reinstitute hanging students from their thumbs as a valid detention practice. He wondered whether it’d be more or less painful than carving into the back of his hand, night after night with the blood quill. 

Even without his broom, Harry found himself drawn to the Quidditch Pitch. He laid flat on his back, unbothered by the damp spring grass—just breathing. Just _Harry._ But the dull ache on the back of his hand, the Ministry of Magic refusing to accept Voldemort’s return, the fact that Dumbledore had gone into hiding, and the ever present burning of his scar gave Harry the reckless impulse to steal his broom back and fly—just fly until he disappeared. 

_Make no noise and pretend I’m not there._

“Well, look who it is—shouldn’t you be _anywhere else_ , Potter?”

Harry scrambled to his feet. Draco Malfoy never traveled alone and he’d rather keep the Inquisitorial Squad within his sights. Malfoy was flanked by his usual pair of thuggish bodyguards, also accompanied by Pansy Parkinson and a girl he recognized as Millicent Bulstrode. All of them were flashing new Inquisitorial Squad badges. Malfoy had his pinned right next to his Prefect badge, his chest thrown out so that you couldn’t possibly miss it. 

“What makes you say that?” Harry clenched and unclenched his fists. He was hopelessly out-numbered. 

“You need a broom to be on the Quidditch Pitch, don’t you?” Malfoy drawled, and the Slytherins around him snickered. None of them had their brooms either. 

“You don’t look like you’re here for Quidditch Practice.”

“Did you forget?” and Malfoy flicked his badge, “Patrolling the school is part of my responsibilities now. Let’s see, five points from Gryffindor for defaming the Quidditch Pitch.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. They’d long ago passed the point of fairness and fallen right into tyrant country, and the current tyrant would just _love_ another reason to teach him the bones of his hand accompanied by bloody visual aids. But the reckless impulse returned and the words dripped from his mouth with vicious disdain, “Then you best clear off because I don’t think anyone has defamed the Quidditch Pitch as much as you have.” He sneered, “Exactly how many times have I caught the snitch before you, now?”

The smirks vanished at once. Harry saw Malfoy’s hand twitch and moved at the exact same time, the both of them withdrawing their wands in a single synchronized motion. 

“What’re you going to do, Potter? There are five of us and only one of you,” Malfoy said with a derisive laugh. The rest of the Inquisitorial Squad took out their wands at that, but it only made Harry tighten his own grip. 

“I’ve faced worse odds,” he retorted, “ask your parents.” 

Parkinson and Bulstrode glanced at each other nervously. They could lie to Umbridge, fake innocence all they wanted, but Harry remembered the names of those in the graveyard that day. Malfoy hesitated before his lip curled into a snarl. 

“Nothing more than a lucky accident, I’m sure,” he said, taking a step toward Harry. He raised his wand before his face—like he had that fateful day at the dueling club, so long ago, it seemed now. “One and one, Potter. Just you and _me._ ”

_“In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter… you and me…”_

Harry raised his own wand, ignoring the way his heart had just reverberated in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others move to create a circle around them. If only he had let Ron and Hermione come with him, he might not have gotten into this mess. But he _could_ take Malfoy. He could take all of them. 

Malfoy inclined his head in a poor imitation of a bow, and another round of snickering shuddered through the field. Harry’s mouth went dry. He heard the words pounding in his ears as he bowed his head high and cold—a trickle of ice freezing his anger.

_“We bow to each other, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore would like you to show manners… Bow to death, Harry…”_

He and Malfoy straightened, raising their wands to the combative position. 

_“And now you face me, like a man… straight-backed and proud, the way your father died…”_

Harry couldn’t breathe. He gasped, choking for air that flitted in and out of lungs that refused to expand. His heart galloped at a new rhythm, each furious beat knocking against his ribcage and trampling whatever rage he had left. He couldn’t see the others around him anymore—were they still there? Malfoy blurred in front of him, wand still raised, mouth moving without sound. 

Had Malfoy hit him with some spell? He must’ve cast it silently—he didn’t know Malfoy could do that. Harry’s legs no longer wanted to support him and his hands shot to his knees, fighting to keep himself upright. He needed to retaliate, cast a hex in response. He couldn’t crumple _now_ —he needed—he needed to bring Cedric’s body back to his parents, survive, and tell everyone that Lord Voldemort was back—

“Potter?”

It took Harry a minute to realize where he was. Malfoy stood in front of him wearing a bewildered expression. The stones of the graveyard fell into grass, the dark shapes of prowling Death Eaters blended into that of the huddled group of Slytherins now urging Malfoy to leave before someone saw.

“What—what did you—” Harry managed, gasping for breath. “Just—couldn’t fight fair—huh?” He could still hear the residual echo of that high, cold voice and resisted the mad urge to cover his ears. 

But Malfoy did not smile. He didn’t even give one of his characteristic smirks. He watched, silent, as Harry wheezed and placed his hand over his hammering heart. 

“As much as I would like to take credit, Potter, I can’t. But I will.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. “What does _that_ mean?” And why was Malfoy whispering? He never missed an opportunity to brag. 

“Or do you want me to tell everyone what really happened here today?”

“I—”

“Should’ve figured you’d get one sooner or later.” Malfoy had straightened up, stashing his wand back into his robes and avoiding Harry’s eyes as he spoke. Harry’s stomach did a funny somersault. 

“What are you going on about, Malfoy?”

Malfoy met his eyes and raised one of his brows. “First panic-attack, Potter?” He went for a sneer but the expression seemed muted, verging on a grimace. 

He had not—he didn’t get—

“Looks like I won,” Malfoy said, but his words missed the drawling smugness they usually embodied. He waited to see if Harry would contradict him, but Harry didn’t know what to say. He felt hollow, a creeping sense of shame building in his throat, but Malfoy simply turned and left.

Harry watched him and the other Slytherins until their retreating backs vanished into the castle, and he flopped onto his back. He closed his eyes and breathed, inhaling the scent of the grass. He was back, suddenly and violently—facedown outside the maze, breathing the scent of the same grass, head swimming, blackness gathering at the corners of his brain as pain tingled his nerves. And then he clenched his hands to tighten his grip on the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s body and grasped nothing. 


End file.
